I do not have fond memories of Good Friday. When I was a child, it was a day of disruption and disturbance as my mother, at work the rest of the time, cleaned the house ready for Easter. Curtains would be taken down, windows flung open to clean and let in the cold air, floors washed. It was chilly and miserable. So what do I do now on Good Friday? Why, I clean of course. Windows are washed, floors scrubbed and, if we're lucky, buns baked.
I couldn't find the yeast, so the cupboard was tidied .
John scrubbed the floor.
I cleaned the windows until they sparkled (almost).
But the buns never got baked because we had a visitor, showing off her first pair of shoes.